bChapter /bb164 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

Knock. Knock.

The sound pulled me out of sleep slowly, like a fog lifting. It was soft but persistent–probably the fourth knock by now, maybe even the fifth. Whoever was at the door clearly had no ns of giving up. I buried my head deeper into the soft pillows, groaning.

You honestly couldn’t me me for sleeping in. The bed in this room was ridiculous. The mattress swallowed me like a cloud, the sheets smooth bas /bhell, and the fluffyforter weighed just enough to trap me in a cocoon of bliss. The room was quiet, the air–conditioned hum soft and steady. I hadn’t meant to sleep this long. I’d picked up the book I bought yesterday, nning to read just a chapter or two–and the next thing I knew, the sun was up and someone was trying to break down my door with polite knocking.

I blinked slowly, pushing myself upright, and reached over to pick up the book. A smallb, /bsatisfied smile tugged at my lips. It had been a while since I got so lost in fiction. I slid the book into the drawer of the nightstand, then stretched, yawning, arching my back until I heard it pop. The digital clock beside the bed shed the time at me: 9:43 AM. Well… not toote. Sort of.

My eyes took in the room again, the crystal chandelier hanging above, and the massive walk–in closet I hadn’t even fully explored yet. Every inch bof /bbthis /bce screamed. Dad really went all out.

“Come in,” I called out finally, voice still a bit groggy.

The door creaked open a secondter, and a maid stepped in gracefully, a silver tray bnced in her hands. Breakfast, obviously.

“Good morning, ma’amb,/b” she greeted me with a respectful nod.

“You can ce that there,” I said, motioning toward the center table just at the foot of the bed.

She set it down carefully before straightening and stepping training will begin.”

closer to my side. “Your personal assistant, ra, said once you’re done with breakfast,

I tried not to roll my eyes too obviously, offering her a tight–lipped smile instead. “Alright, thank you.”

She bowed slightly and exited the room with quiet, practiced steps.

I sighed the moment the door shut behind her. This ‘training‘ was already starting to feel ba /blittle too serious for my taste. Who starts a business training session like it’s military boot camp? It wasn’t like I was studying for final exams. ra needed to loosen up. I could’ve used a wee brunch or maybe some lounging by the pool first–not this ssroom energy she was pushing.

After brushing my teeth and taking a quick but satisfying hot shower, I returned to the food–eggsb, /btoast, fruit, and freshly squeezed orange juice. The maid must’ve brought this from the main kitchen, which probably looked like a professional restaurant setup. Everything tasted amazing, but I didn’t linger too long. ra clearly wasn’t ithe /itype to appreciateteness.

I made my way down the grand staircase, walking past art pieces that looked like they belonged in a museum. When I finally reached the designated hall, my steps slowed.

Of course, this mansion had a hall. It could probably fit ba /bstadium in the backyard if Dad wanted it to.

I pushed open the double doors and stepped in.

What I saw next made me stop for ba /bsecond.

ra sat on a single chair

at the front of the hall, a whiteboard behind her already filled bwith /bdiagrams, bullet points, and bwhat /blooked like ba /bbfull /bblesson- /bn. She wore ba /bfitted zer, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and–was bthat /bba /bcane in her hand?

A literal cane.

b19.04 /b

bJun /b

Like bsome /bold–school headmistress.

Was this ba /bbusiness training session or the first day of reform school?

bI /braised an eyebrow and walked in further, arms folded.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked, my tone half–sarcastic, half–curious. I was hoping she’d say yes. That she was just messing with me.

ra stood, twirling the cane in her hand like she was about to deliver a lecture to a ss of unruly children.

“Good morning, Mrs. Olivia,” she said the moment her eyesnded on me, her voice crisp and purposeful, like someone with a schedule and no time for

small talk.

“Good morning,” I replied, straightening a bit under her gaze. “Is this where we’re holding the training session?”

“Correct,” she answered with a sharp nod, her tone brisk and ino/i–nonsense.

“So… what’s with the cane?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she walked right up to me, heels clicking authoritatively on the polished floor. Without a wordb, /bshe used the bcane /bto gently push against my back, straightening my posture.

D

“If you want to be a powerful and respectable businesswoman,” she began, her voice cool and deliberate, “it all begins with your posture. You must stand upright at all times. Do you know why?”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden physical correction. “No,” I replied quietly, watching her as she began to slowly circle me like ba /bhawk observing prey. My head turned, following her movements.

“Yesterday, when I walked into that room,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, “I noticed the way you looked at me. I’m sure bin /byour mind, byou /bwere thinking I walked in too proudly, like I thought I owned the ce.”

She stopped suddenly, turning to face me. “But let me ask you something did it leave a mark?” Her voice rose, sharp andmanding.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, she smacked the cane against the edge of the table beside us with a loud crack! I flinched, my heart skipping a beat.

“That’s what presence does,i” /ishe said. “It shakes the room without apology. Even bnow/bb, /bbI’m /bjust your personal assistant, but I guarantee…” She leaned bin /bslightly. “I intimidate you. Don’t I?”

She was right. As much as I hated to admit it, something about hér–her confidence, her poise, the way she owned the space–made me feel small.

I nodded slowly.

“I built that image through posturei, /ipresence, and unshakable confidencei,/ii” /ishe said, once again nudging my shoulders back bto /bcorrect my stance. “You’re not just some housewife anymore. Things have changed.”

She stepped back and folded her arms. “You’re going to run one of the biggestpanies in Mexico. That means you bdon’t /bget to be bsoft/b. bNo /bmore bMr. /bNice Guy,” she said, scoffing. “You’re a woman and a powerful one at that. If you don’t walk with force, if you don’t speak like you demand brespect/bb, /bbthey /bwill eat you alive.”

Her voice had the weight of experience behind it, each word sinking into me like ba /blesson I should’ve bknown /bblong /bbago/b.

“Soon,” she continued, “you’ll be walking into boardrooms filled with smart, cunning men who care about one bthing/bb–/bbmoney/b. bIf /bbyou /bbdon’t /bbshow /bbthem /bwho the boss is from the moment you enter, trust me, they will show you.”

With that, she dragged ba /bchair forward and motioned for me to sit. I obeyed without question, still processing beverything /bbshe /bbhad /bbsaid/b.

bShe /bturned to the whiteboard and began uncapping ba /bbmarker/b. I watched her, my heart pounding with ba /bbstrange /bbmix /bbof /bbfear /bband /bbadmiration. /bbI /bbdidn’t /butter ba /bword—not because I was afraid, but because every single thing she had said made perfect, bpiercing /bsense.

09.04 FI, 27

For the first time, I understood exactly why my father had rmended her to train me.

Now, I wasn’t just here to learn how to lead.